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“Yes, it’s good as new, Cap’n. We can-” The ostler stopped, his eyes grew wide, then angry. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Benjie Lovitt, yer young fool, get them animals outa my yard!”
Just then, two enormous pigs came ru
It had happened so fast, Sam seemed stu
It was a scene straight out of a farce, Wilhelmina thought. Or a Hogarth painting.
“Get those bloody animals away from my curricle before they do any more damage!” Sam’s booming voice finally brought a halt to all the shouting. Seated in his mud puddle, he bellowed out orders to the boy, the ostler, and the wheelwright, in an authoritative voice that brooked no reproach, making it clear he was not amused, and that they had better look sharp in rectifying the situation.
Wilhelmina thought this must have been what it was like to be dressed down on the quarterdeck by Captain Pellow. What a formidable man her Sam had become. Formidably desirable, even plopped down in the mud.
Grissom helped Sam to his feet and launched into a stream of obsequious apologies. Sam dismissed them with a wave of his hand as he gazed down in disgust at his ruined pantaloons and coattails. Finally, he looked up and caught Wilhelmina’s eye. Her hand still covered her mouth, for she was having trouble suppressing the mirth that gurgled up from her throat. Sam glanced down again at his mud-covered clothes, then back up at Wilhelmina, and broke into laughter. That was all she needed for her own merriment to burst forth, and the two of them stood in the stable yard and laughed and laughed.
Grissom, his glance darting from one to the other, offered a tentative chuckle. When their laughter had eased a bit, the i
Sam directed Grissom to retrieve his portmanteau from the boot of his curricle so he could change into his own clothes. Wilhelmina accompanied him back to the i
Mrs. Grissom thanked him and took his muddied greatcoat and hat, promising to have them cleaned. “And I’ll send up a chambermaid to take away your dirty clothes. We’ll take care of ’em, don’t you worry. You’ll have ’em back all cleaned and dried by tomorrow morning. Now, if you’ll follow me…”
Before heading off for his attic room, Sam turned to Wilhelmina and smiled. “Looks like I’ll be able to share di
“I’m glad, Sam.” It was too soon to part. She wanted a few more hours with him. That was all. Just a few more hours. It was selfish of her, but there it was. Miss Fullbrook would have to wait another day for her offer. For tonight, Sam would belong to Wilhelmina. Or so she hoped.
Sam looked across the table, laden with platters of roast mutton, game hens, potatoes with butter sauce, pickled onions, French beans, and crusty bread. Mrs. Grissom had done her best to compensate for the mud and the pigs and the cramped attic room by making sure he did not also go hungry. Sam had dug into the hearty meal with relish, but noticed that the duchess ate very little.
“What’s the matter, my girl?” he asked. “You do not like Mrs. Grissom’s cooking? No doubt you have become accustomed to finer cuisine.”
She looked up and smiled. “I employ a French chef who would swoon at the sight of that leg of mutton and those soupy potatoes. In fact, he often travels with me, but since we were visiting Lord and Lady Thayne, who keep an excellent chef, I sent him on a well-deserved holiday.”
“And so you are forced to endure a plain meal without elegant French sauces or exotic seasoning. Poor Willie.”
She laughed. “I am not so spoiled as all that. I can manage an indifferent meal from time to time. I’m just not very hungry.”
“The food may seem indifferent to you, Your Grace, but after so many years of salt pork out of a beer keg and hardtack biscuits that could chip a tooth-once you’d first banged them on the table to chase out the weevils-I can assure you that a good English roast leg of mutton is nothing short of heaven to me.”
His comment steered the conversation back to tales of Sam’s life at sea, which seemed to fascinate her. Wilhelmina peppered him with questions throughout the meal, and even the grinding monotony of the blockade began to take on a more adventurous turn in the telling. She showed a particular interest in his rise through the ranks, something even she recognized as unusual for an impressed seaman.
“I had been sublieutenant until Aboukir Bay when more officers were needed,” he said, slicing an apple into sections and offering her one. “I had the honor of serving as a full lieutenant in that great battle, under Captain Lewis of the-”
“The Alexander.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “How do you know that?”
Willie clicked her tongue. “Really, Sam, do you think I do not read? The Battle of the Nile was second only to Trafalgar in importance. It was written about in great detail in all the newspapers and magazines. I even decorated my drawing room in the Egyptian style. It was all the rage.”
“But how did you know that I served on the Alexander? Surely a pup of a lieutenant was not mentioned in the Morning Chronicle.”
“I saw your name in the navy lists.”
He gazed at her in astonishment. “You read the lists?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I have followed your career ever since you showed up alive, and full of vinegar, that night at the theater, five years after I thought you’d died. I know you sailed on the Alexander, then the Pegasus, I believe. You were given command of the Libra, and one more I think, but the Dartmoor was your first post ship, as full captain. And your last ship was the Cristobel.”